Calma Verita
by alchemy dream
Summary: When Anakin's happily ever after with Padmé sours, he turns to ObiWan for advice. Just maybe, his happily ever after was a silent truth that was in front of him the whole time...SLASH.
1. Termination

**Calma Verità :Alchemy Dream**

**A/N:** I believe this will be just another short one. Kind of angsty, kind of romantic. Kind of "I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyways". (Title means "silent truth".)

Please enjoy, and reviews are love.

**Timeline:** Very pre-ROTS. Padmé is carrying the twins. Anakin has long floppy hair (their hair is my timeline.)

**Warnings:** None in this chapter. Unless the topic of abortion bothers you. (Slash, language, and prolly all sorts of other goodies in future chapters.)

**Summary:** When Anakin's happily-ever-after with Padmé sours, he turns to Obi-Wan for advice. Just maybe, his happily-ever-after was a silent truth that was in front of him the whole time.

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Although the high rise quarters in the Senate District were crafted of perfectly cold durasteel and tinted amber glass on the outside, the interiors were lush and breathtaking, sensual, and most of all, custom made. Expensive. Castles in the sky. Fate had given him a modest, if sometimes inhospitable childhood, his feet growing up to the texture of sand and duracrete. He had never gotten quite used to the pleasure he received from the sound of his scuffed black leather boots on the polished green, marbled travertine at the entrance, under the large, classical arched door that told him everything he'd been dying to know.

He was home.

It had been a week since he had returned to Coruscant, and a great deal of his time had been tied up, not with his Master or his wife, but with the council and the senators. He had even been offered, for the sake of convenience, a suite akin to the Chancellor's. The destroying of Count Dooku had heralded him a hero, once again. A gift and a curse. The more time he spent as a hero, the less spent around the people he truly cared about.

Things were quickly becoming complicated.

Anakin shifted his eyes to the right, and then to the left before pressing the call button. It always felt wrong to have to knock on his own door, but it was a social precaution that had to be taken. For the safety of himself, the man, the Jedi, and the lover. And more importantly, his new bride. A goofy grin spread like wildfire over his handsome face as he sensed her footsteps, first softly over the shaggy white carpet, and then over the hard, cold floor. She was barefoot, he could tell by her footfalls. He clasped his hands behind his back, in his "just visiting" stance, and tipped back and forth like an anxious child, heel to toe, heel to toe. Slowly, the heavy door slid open, and out peeked a warm, slightly flushed face, her lips smoothing into a coral pink grin as she opened it further to her husband. Almost shyly, he shuffled in, waiting until the door was firmly shut and locked before he could appropriately greet her. Growling playfully, he reached out and picked her up, swirling her around in her long, green taffeta dress, her ornate orange petticoats sticking out in every direction.

"Anakin! Put me down!" she laughed, indicating that in truth, she'd rather be spun a few more times. However complying, Anakin gently placed her on the floor, catching a glimpse of her perfectly painted opalescent toenails. He stopped to stare endearingly into her brown eyes, placing his large hands on either side of her head, sinking deep into her soft curls.

"I've missed you," he said simply, smiling softly. Trailing his hand down her neck, to her arm, and then to her rounding belly, he followed his hand with his eyes, full of fatherly adoration. Padmé's smile tensed, and she took his hand, holding it firmly, leading him to the sitting room, where she had a steaming pot of tea waiting in a hand painted ceramic kettle.

"I've missed you too, Ani...I hate it when you're gone for months at a time. I thought Obi-Wan and I had talked about sharing you every now and then," she joked, grinning as she sank into the luxe velvet sofa. Anakin chuckled, reaching out as she handed him a cup, sipping the sweet chamomile.

"Well, surely you realize that he owns my soul by now, Padmé, even if it _is_ unwillingly." Padmé looked at him incredulously, grinning and slapping him on the arm, spilling a little tea on his sleeve.

"Well, surely he could have at _least_ taught you better Jedi reflexes, Ani," she said, plopping gracefully next to him.

"Let's just be happy he wasn't here to see that," Anakin said, scowling and rubbing it in. "But let's not talk about him," he said, scooting closer, and placing his hand on where it had longed to be for months. Rubbing her stomach, he sat his tea aside, laying his head down, feeling secure and excited all at once. Padmé's hand came down to his face, her short, trimmed nails brushing against his temples. He jumped a bit, a reaction to being in combat for so long.  
"Don't act like I beat you, Ani," she said softly, with good humor. He smiled apologetically, and closed his eyes again, listening for a kick, anything other than her loud, nervous heartbeat. Deciding he might hear better without the layers of cloth, he reached down, pulling her dress and petticoat up and over her waist, much to her chagrin and humiliation.

"Anakin Skywalker! What are you doing? Stop!" and she yanked it back down.

"Then will you take it off? I want to see." Padmé bit her lip a little.

He was already too attached.

"There isn't too much to see just yet, Ani. It's only been three months." Anakin looked at her pleadingly, with the patented Skywalker puppy-eyes and all, yanking pitifully at the dress. Padmé rolled her eyes, smiling and getting up from the sofa. She shuffled to the bedroom, where she kept her back to him, looking over her shoulder from her spot in front of the full length mirror.

"Unzip me?"

Anakin was more than happy to oblige. He kicked off his leathers and slid on his socks on the hardwood floor over to her, searching for a moment for the hidden zip under the collar. Slowly, he pulled the metal tab, revealing her ivory curving back, her symmetrical shoulder blades, her freckle free skin. Once the pull was at her lower back, he gently slid the light green balloon sleeves down, gravity bringing the rest to pool around her feet. Both husband and wife looked into the mirror at Padmé's pregnant body, her breasts growing heavier, and the still small swell of her belly over her black, lacy undergarments.

"Oh, Padmé..." he said, breathless, as he ran his lightsaber calloused hands over her skin, his thumb brushing over her collarbones, over the japor necklace that she hid deep inside her clothes, layers away from the public eye. She smiled back in the mirror, her cheeks flushed from her own nudity, even in front of her husband. "I can't wait...it'll be so wonderful."

"I still have to go for my test in a few hours...it's unusual for the appointment to be during the evening," she said, fidgeting with the metal bangles around her slender wrists. Anakin made a whining sound.  
"Why did you have to schedule an appointment for the day I come back?"

"Why did you have to come back the day I scheduled my appointment?" she teased, cheekily, her smile falling. "Oh, _Ani_, you know I couldn't argue...there's hardly anyone at the clinic at night, and for our safety..." Pulling her dress up again, she made a show of fumbling with the zipper and Anakin came to the rescue, pulling it up the rest of the way. He wrapped his arms fully around her, pressing a passionate kiss to her scalp.

"Can't we rest a little while? Until your appointment?"

"Just for a little while, and then I have to leave," she said, suddenly moody. Anakin looked at her with question, and adjusting her tone, she sighed and smiled a little, walking into his arms for a long embrace that ended in her bed. The two lovers settled clumsily into the duvets, Anakin shedding his outer tunic and tabards and belt, pulling his inner tunic over his head and tossing it all on the floor. He grinned at her, burying himself under the blankets, the falling sun illuminating his hair through the curtains. Padmé smiled back, tucking herself under his chin, blinking against his chest.

"Oh, Ani...I love you," she said, more of a question than a statement. Anakin brought a finger up to skim her nose.

"I love you too," he mumbled sleepily, pressing her closer.

"No matter what?"

But he was already asleep.

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Anakin hated waking up alone. It had been his reality more times than he cared to remember. He was always brought back to the Clone Wars, a fresh wound, a new memory. Even the meager shelter the barracks provided wasn't enough-the damp tents, the mud, the constant rain, and then the blowing sand, the ice...it was just one insufferable extreme after another. But the worst was waking up in what he perceived was morning in his thin, itchy sleeping bag without Obi-Wan next to him. He would turn over to jostle the older man unwillingly awake, and find an empty sleeping bag. He could never be sure where he went, whether he was meeting with the troopers, strategizing on their position and next maneuver, finding breakfast if available, or had been captured, even killed. Of course, these were all fears that, like an unwinding thread of insecurity, growing larger and larger like a great monster, consumed him silently until he thought he might burst. It was a vulnerability that he hated, because it escalated quickly into paranoia.

It was a similar feeling, seeing Padmé for only half an hour, to wake up in the gargantuan bed all alone. At the very least, he knew where she was. Anakin rolled over in the bed, lying face down to inhale the smell of medeis in her sheets, the warm floral _female_ scent that he'd been so far away from for so long. Everything about Padmé's apartment was sensual. He relished in the feel of the cool, white silken sheets against his sweaty back, and the warmth of the duvet he was snuggling with reckless abandon, subconsciously burying himself in reminders. It was all so much better than the itchy brown sleeping bags. He was so happy they would be able to provide their child with luxury, luxuries he had never known as a child. He smiled just thinking about it. In only six short months, Anakin and Padmé Skywalker would be parents, a real family. He would finally have what he'd always longed for-a nuclear family. He could scarcely wait for Padmé to return from the clinic-she had said the ultrasound would show them now if they had a little girl or a little boy. Would it have blue or brown eyes? Would it look more like Padmé or him, or more of a combination? His mind raced off into the future, near and far. What would the child become? Would it be possible to train it as a Jedi? Would he want to? Would the Order be stable enough by the time his child was of age to become a Padawan, either to himself or Obi-Wan? The thought made him smile broadly.Thousands of thoughts fired from his synapses, images and fantasies, of how proud his mother would have been, how Obi-Wan would react...

He and Obi-Wan had become close during the war. They had spent countless hours together, not as Master and Padawan any longer, but as best friends. He shared everything with Obi-Wan, and that night, before the fifteenth day during the Battle of Jabiim, as they lay side by side, shoulders and legs touching in that tiny tent, it had just felt right. It felt right to tell him about Padmé, about his marriage. It embarrassed him to gush about her to him, because he knew it was wrong, but Obi-Wan had surprised him. Obi-Wan had been accepting. Well, not at first. He had been briefly infuriated, fire spreading across his face. He was so angry and disappointed in Anakin that he couldn't even speak to him. But in time, before the casualties started occurring, before his capture, Obi-Wan accepted it.

_Anakin shifted a little in his sleeping bag, parallel to Obi-Wan, whose back was turned, asleep. He stared until early, early morning, before a nonexistent sun rose, his eyes adjusting until he could pick out the larger freckles on his comrade's back in the darkness. His mind began to wander, making images out of the freckles, connecting the dots. He began to drift off, giving up on the possibility of redemption in Obi-Wan's eyes, until suddenly, he turned over, staring directly at Anakin. _

"_Hi," he said, softly, unsure. His thick Coruscanti accent was a little broken. Anakin nodded his head in acknowledgment. He hadn't slept a wink._

"_Anakin, whatever happens, I must believe it's the will of the Force. Qui-Gon always told me," he licked his lips, choosing his words, "to live in the moment. That's what we all must do in times like these. I disagree with you marrying her. The Jedi in me is furious that you would break the code, and the Master in me is disappointed that you would yield to attachment, to needing her. But," he said, scooting closer and putting a shaky hand on Anakin's head, "the friend in me wants you to find just one spot of happiness in the galaxy. The comrade in me wants to do anything to prove there is something worth fighting this war for." Anakin smiled hesitantly, and when it was returned, he decided not to settle for a simple touch, but, even in exhaustion, reached over to pin his Master below him in a bear hug. And somehow, that contact was even more satisfying than acceptance. _

Yawning a little, Anakin started at the sound of the door opening and closing. He slid out of their bed, sensing his wife's entrance into the main hallway of the apartment, and hearing the shuffling noise of the hem of her dress skimming the floor, he shot out of the bedroom, facing her with closed eyes and puckered lips. His amorous intentions were lost as a jumpy Padmé yelped a little at his sudden presence, pushing him away. Anakin frowned, scratching his taut belly and pulling his elastic leggings up a little.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked, not touching her at all. Padmé looked away, blinking.

"I can't help but be jumpy when you're lurking around like a fiend," she said, irritably. Anakin looked desperate.

"How was I lurking? I came out of the bedroom to kiss you and welcome you home! How is that lurking? And look at me, Padmé, don't look away."

"Anakin, we need to talk," Padmé said quietly.

"About me lurking around? It's just from being in battle so long. I'm just used to being stealthy, and I promise I'll..."

"No, Ani. It's about...me. Well, you and me." She took his hand, leading him into the common room. He followed, his eyes full of question and fear. Padmé seated herself in the large armchair, leaving Anakin to sit alone on the sofa. His eyes gestured for her to go on.

"I had my appointment, and I did a lot of thinking. Well, the doctor and I did a lot of thinking. You know, he's resigned to confidentiality on this, but we discussed the wisdom of us having this baby right now."

Anakin's azure eyes were wide, overcome with storms in their irises. "Padmé, what do you mean?"

"Don't make me say it, Anakin...it's too hard. It's the hardest decision I've ever had to make, and you know exactly what I mean." Her lips began to tremble at his gaze, sorrow and fear drinking her in.

"No, no. This has to be a joke, a really _cruel_ joke. Padmé, you've already carried the child for three months. You can't get an abortion now, it's against the law."

"Not in a civilised world like this. Not on Coruscant, Anakin...it's legal until the end of the second trimester, and..."

"No! Padmé, no. No. You can't be thinking about an abortion now. If this is about the Jedi, don't worry about it! Obi-Wan will be accepting, and he won't tell. I promise you!"

"It isn't about the Jedi, Anakin, it's about us. I mean, you're in the thick of your career, and so am I. I can't very well be a Senator and mother, and you'll hardly be around to see the baby. I won't raise a baby without a father, Ani. I decided it's best to wait, until we have time to devote to our baby. Until we can make our life together more than a secretly shared one bedroom apartment in Coruscant and a whisper among gossip-ready ears," Padmé said, her politician tone coming into play, debating and covering the angles like a pro. And Anakin knew she was right. But he couldn't let go. Silence flooded the room, the only noise the quiet hum of the electricity in the walls. Anger built in him until he couldn't hold the monster in, and his mechanical arm swung out, sending the tray with the porcelain dishes and half drunk tea crashing to the ground. Padmé winced and jumped a little, her eyes pleading with his as he worked his jaw.

"That's just the problem, isn't it Padmé? YOU decided. You never asked me, you never told me, you never _mentioned_ this. Not once. My input is worth just as much as yours is. _I'm_ the father," he said, a quiet storm brewing, before he stood, striding back to the bedroom. Padmé followed, yelling after him.

"Anakin, surely you know it won't work out? Go talk to Obi-Wan, I'm sure he'd agree!" she said after him. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the traffic.

"If you knew it wouldn't work, why'd you allow it to keep going? Padme, it's _wrong_! There's no reason! We can make this work! Padmé, it doesn't even matter if we _can_, we have to!"

"Anakin, you don't even know what you're saying! Listen, you don't have to come with me! We can wait, I...I can get a contraceptive shot while I'm at the Med Center, and we can wait until we're ready," she pleaded.

"I _am_ ready, Padmé!" Anakin cried.

"Well, I'm not, Anakin! And I'm not having this child."

"Have you already made the appointment?" Padmé looked away and nodded. Anakin smiled, in disbelief.

"You want me to have _no_ fucking part of this, do you? You won't let me _touch_ you, you can't even _tell me_ about terminating the pregnancy, about having already made the decision, and you don't want me around when you...?" He ground his teeth together, pursing his lips. "You just want me to accept it and move on?" He looked at his wife, chewing at her nail, tears streaming down her face.

"Ani, don't..."

Anakin wailed, tears finally breaking over his ruddy cheeks. He kicked over the nightstand, breaking the wooden support in half, sending the stained glass lamp shattering into about a million pieces on the carpet. Gaining little satisfaction, he strode over to Padmé, his eyes shining with tears and confusion. He drew his arm back, the overwhelming desire to knock the young woman out guiding his movements. Blind rage pulsed through him, and his hand nearly connected with her tear-stained cheek, before he caught himself, eyes wide with disgust, at Padmé, himself, at life and its subtle cruelties. That he could slaughter women and children at war, their identities meaningless, but the idea of his own child being killed before allowed to take its first breath filled him with an untapped violence shameful for a Jedi, for a man.

"Padmé, I...I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what he was sorry for, or if he really was sorry, but rather that it was wrong. Padmé stood, looking in fear through her arms at Anakin.

"Y..You would hit me? You would lay a hand on your wife? Ani...please, lets not let the sun set on this, lets talk, like civilised people..." she mewled. Anakin only looked outside the curved glass window at the moving traffic, the headlights all in rows, the neon lights flashing across the distance, in the more base parts of Coruscant.

"The sun's already set," he laughed, ironically, like a temperamental child.

She was crying. He couldn't stand it. Anakin shook his head in disbelief, and walked past her to get his clothes, sliding only his black inner tunic and boots on, gathering the rest up into a ball. He brushed past her, smelling like adrenaline.

"Where are you going?" she said, panicking all the way down the hallway, holding her belly. Anakin didn't turn to face her.

"I need fresh air, and I need to talk to Obi-Wan," he said simply. They were both one in the same. Padmé then let out a long wail.

"Anakin, please...stay! Let's talk. We need to talk,"

"You just told me to go talk to him!" he laughed, incredulous. He smiled an exhausted, insincere smile.

"Make up your mind." And he shut the door.

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Time got away from him. As it often did when he was sulking. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been driving around Coruscant, how many times he'd sped past the same colourful bar signs, how many times he'd been yelled at for his reckless driving by faceless, nameless, and equally bad drivers. Anakin wasn't in the mood. He simply turned the radio up louder, drowning out the sounds of the city until he felt that he was underwater, detached from reality.

He turned around mid-lane, deciding that if he waited much longer, it might be morning before he saw Obi-Wan. It was already an hour past midnight, and even Coruscanti traffic was beginning to thin out a little, its inhabitants either situated in strip clubs, bars, or at home in bed with their families.

_Where I should be._

Anakin scowled deeply, shivering a little in the open cockpit. He really should have fully dressed. Approaching the equally comforting and disconcerting spires of the Temple, he hoped that at this hour, no Jedi would be lurking the halls to see one of their own disgracing their uniform as he was. Anakin turned the radio down, and then off, before approaching the main hangar, jumping out, and quietly making his way up to the main stairway, where he entered a well learned code to gain access to the rest of the building. He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea, after all. Was it really fair to burden Obi-Wan like he burdened Padmé, it seemed? How could he tell Obi-Wan that he was a father-to-be? Would he be happy that the child would be dead before it became a "problem"? Clutching the rest of his clothes in his arms, he entered the second elevator in the hallway, which would take him to the dormitories. The temple was quiet as a tomb this time of night, with the exception of Master Yoda, who would sometimes be restless in his sleep and go for short, meditative walks around the gardens, or the library in the early hours. On rare occasions, he would come across another wandering soul, and ask to go for a short ride around Coruscant.

Anakin sucked in his breath as the elevator gently stopped, the door opening to the seventeenth floor, the long, midnight blue carpeted hallway sprawling out before him. He passed eight identical doors, before approaching the one he knew so well, and entered in another code. The door beeped softly, however, access denied! Anakin looked down, perplexed. Surely he had the right code? He had punched it in countless times for nearly eleven years! Punching it in again, this time pressing the buttons harder and more forcefully, it still denied him entrance. Anakin stood, looking up and down the bright hall, and bit his lip. A tentative finger pushed against the call button, before quickly pressing it in. He turned around, hoping no one else knew he was there, feeling like a stranger in his own home, yet again.

Suddenly he had a keen feeling that there was truly nowhere he belonged.

A swooshing sound brought him back to himself, and he turned, faced with a drowsy, slightly confused Obi-Wan.

"Anakin?" he questioned softly, rubbing at his half-opened grey eyes. Anakin looked at his face, the misplaced feeling sinking away. He smiled nervously.

"Master, how are you?"

"Anakin, it's one in the morning! What's going on? I thought you were staying..." Anakin promptly cut him off, holding a hand up and looking down. He stared at Obi-Wan's bare feet, his sleep pants covering all but his big toes. Obi-Wan remained silent for a moment, deciding not to ask, before stepping inside the door, allowing Anakin entrance.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, trying to keep the yawns from his smooth voice. He scratched his fuzzy belly, waving the kitchen light on in the dark apartment.

"I just need somewhere to stay, for a day or two. Three tops," Anakin said, hungrily eying his neglected bedroom. It had only been hours ago that he was relishing in being in Padmé's bed, only to long now for his own. He was excited just thinking about his little Padawan bed, too short, but yet so comfortable if you curled up just right. He was thrilled at the thought of an Obi-Wan breakfast, of catching up with his second-oldest friend. Obi-Wan scratched his beard lightly, pursing his lips.

"Well, you know you have your own quarters now, don't you?" he said. Anakin's smile fell from his fantasies.

"No...no, I didn't! When was it assigned?"

"Apparently a week ago, while we were gone. I guess they decided it was time to kick you out of the nest. They changed the code, came and removed your bed and furniture, but I think they left the other things in a box. They forwarded the room number and passcode to your datapad." Anakin looked at him with question.

"It must be in the box of belongings in your bedroom, then. Anakin, how many times have I told you to take it with you on missions? Did you..."

Anakin was already down the hall from the common room, wincing a little at the dark emptiness of his old room, at the tiny box of books and toiletries that had been sat in the center of the room. His heart fell a little, as he pulled the datapad out, amongst soap and shampoo and razors, and clicked it on. Its light illuminated his face and Obi-Wan as he wandered into the quiet room where his former Padawan sat cross-legged, scrolling through messages.

He found the new room assignment, and saved it to memory in case he forgot. Why had they taken him out of his own bedroom? Surely it was less trouble to keep him in the same place than it was to have a whole new room furnished. He looked back in the box as Obi-Wan stalked behind him, resting his firm hand on Anakin's shoulder. The heat of his hand was soothing to the point of tears, and he did all he could to lick up the stray one that fell down his face. Clearly he didn't belong here, either. Anakin picked out a clanking mess of metal, holding it up by a little round hook.

"Remember this? I made this the second year I was here. You hated it," Anakin laughed tearfully, fingering the small wind chime. Obi-Wan chuckled a little.

"I didn't _hate_ it, I just didn't want it hanging by my bed. I really appreciated that you gave me everything you made in art class, but some things were just more...practical than others." Anakin smiled, stuffing it back in the box, closing the lid. Obi-Wan backed up away from Anakin as he stood, hoisting the load into his arms, lethargically.

"I guess I'm going to go settle in..." Anakin said, offering another sad smile. He wanted to settle in _here._ Obi-Wan returned it, noticing Anakin's wad of clothing, the dark brown tunic and leather tabbards. It struck him then that Anakin was dressed in only one layer of clothes, the innermost ones. He wondered what could have brought Anakin over in such a state of disarray.

He left the discarded and forgotten accoutrements on the floor as he helped Anakin with the door.

Anakin turned, bowing his head toward Obi-Wan, trying not to make eye contact. "I guess we'll catch up tomorrow then," he questioned softly. "I'm sorry for waking you." Obi-Wan's beard crinkled up with familiarity, his lips curving.

"Don't think anything of it. Get some sleep, Anakin. You look horrible."

"Gee, thanks, Master." Obi-Wan hesitantly darted his hand out to tousle Anakin's hair, but he was already moving down the hall. He snatched his hand back, looking into his empty palm, at the lines, his life line, and all the ones that branched and moved as he flexed it.

He couldn't fight the feeling something was missing.

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_Eighteenth floor...room..._ "Three."

Anakin pulled the new four digit code from memory, and punched it into the sterile white keypad beside his new door. With an identical swoosh, it opened, cold, unused air reaching out to greet him. The door shut behind him, and he set the box down in the little kitchenette, clicking on the small light above the stove. He looked around for a moment, registering that everything was the same, but exactly _opposite_ his and Obi-Wan's rooms. _Their_ kitchenette had been on the right side of the door, and this was on the left. There was also one less bedroom. He ran his hand over the small durasteel island in the middle of the kitchenette area, opening the drawers and cabinets, searching for anything. Anything but this new emptiness of starting all over. The clock over the microwave blinked almost one thirty. He was tired, and just getting sadder every moment.

_Exploration can wait_, he convinced himself, shedding his boots as he walked down the short hall that branched into the bed and bath. He hoped there were sheets already on the bed. Wandering into the drafty bedroom, Anakin looked around at the perfectly made up bedroom, everything in different shades of white and...brown. He scowled, simply sliding between the cold cotton sheets that were, luckily, on the bed, and pulled the drab brown duvet over his shivering body. His mind wouldn't even function anymore...it had been such a hard day. Somehow, just as hard as a day during the war. During the war, he could distract himself with dreams of Padmé, dreams of their impending family, or dreams of falling asleep in his own bed again, with Obi-Wan just a room away. But now that his angel had fallen, now that he and his friend had been separated, what was there to console him? What was there to look forward to? He couldn't even think of reconciling with Padmé, and he desperately needed Obi-Wan's thoughts.

_You desperately need Obi-Wan. Period._

Anakin silenced his mind. He didn't want to go through this again. They were only friends. Best friends. He shouldn't have to rely on him so much. He shouldn't need his warmth as much as he did. He should be needing Padmé, and he should be with her. Anakin blinked in the still darkness, willing his mind to rest. He missed Padmé.

But none of these thoughts had any weight as he suddenly came jumping out of his bed, exiting his new quarters even quicker than he'd entered, taking the elevator back down a level, to room number nine, pressing the call button again.

He heard footsteps cross the floor, and tucked an unruly strand of dark blonde hair behind his ear. He wiped away a stray tear before the door opened once more, and Obi-Wan stood before him, his light, bare chest stilled, waiting for Anakin to speak.

"Mast...Obi-Wan," Anakin pleaded softly. He brought his eyes up to meet Obi-Wan's, before stepping closer, and meeting no refute, he lunged into an embrace. Obi-Wan didn't question him, and ushered him carefully back into his quarters.

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_Lay your head on my pillow, _

_Here you can be yourself._

_No one has to know what you are feeling, _

_No one but me and you. _

_-Alicia Keys "Diary"_

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	2. Rituals

**Calma Verità :Alchemy Dream**

**A/N:** Here's another part! Thank you so much for all of the positive remarks on the last chapter! I was very, very surprised, and very excited that it went over so well. Also, thank you to LincolnSixEcho, our Italian goddess for her correction! I'll be back with another chapter later in May (and hopefully far less dramatic)-wish me luck on my _finals_.

Please enjoy, and reviews are love.

**Timeline:** Very pre-ROTS. Padmé is carrying the twins. Anakin has long floppy hair (their hair is my timeline.)

**Warnings:** This chapter: Language, topic of abortion.

**Summary:** When Anakin's happily-ever-after with Padmé sours, he turns to Obi-Wan for advice. Just maybe, his happily-ever-after was a silent truth that was in front of him the whole time.

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A sharp buzzing from the door brought Padmé out of her reverie. She put down her hair brush on the vanity, and slowly rose, making her way to the door.

"Who could that be at this time of night?" she said aloud, tying her robe closed over her silk night dress. She slid her feet into a pair of matching beaded lavender slippers, and stood before the door.

"Senator Amidala, it's me. Would you open up," the deep voice said, a voice she instantly recognized. A smile broke over her lips, and she pulled the door open, her bloodshot brown eyes managing a small twinkle for the dark-haired man before her.

"Bail," she sighed, relieved to be in the company of _someone_. Bail Organa smiled an august smile right back at her, putting a warm, wide hand on her silky shoulder. She moved to usher the older man in, shutting the door behind him. "Bail, don't think for a moment I don't appreciate your company, but what brings you here so _late_?" she asked, bringing a hand over her mouth as she stifled a yawn. Bail handed her a red linen bag, topped with a little ribbon.

"You called for me, Padmé, remember?" Bail's eyes danced with amusement. "I know it can't begin to comfort you during times like these, but I hoped that...p..perhaps," Bail stuttered, looking down as she opened the bag.

"Oh, Bail!" she whispered, pulling out a single elaborate dark chocolate truffle, drizzled with a honeyed glaze. "They look wonderful," she said sadly, replacing it, and captured him in a friendly embrace.

"I...I hoped that you would like them. Breha always appreciates chocolate during hard times, I hoped you would be the same." Padmé laughed.

"I guess women are all alike," she said, turning as her smile fell. Bail cleared his throat, watching her face as the firelight reflected on her cheeks.

_So beautiful..._

"I don't think he's coming back, Bail," Padmé said, letting a tear run freely down her cheek. Bail had easily become her one of her sole confidantes, second only to her handmaiden. He always knew when something was amiss. He needed only to look at her face during Senate meetings, becoming aloof and disinterested. A sort of understanding had been made; Bail would never speak of her marriage, her pregnancy with the young Jedi Anakin Skywalker. He had been the first to know of the plans for abortion, although he remained painfully neutral on the subject. As Breha couldn't bear children, he had always longed to have several of his own, and couldn't imagine someone with the ability to bear children terminating that most desirable joy.

Of course, there were far different, and labyrinthine circumstances to which he couldn't relate. He stepped forward, not trusting himself to hold her. He had a wife, and his relationship with Senator Amidala was purely platonic.

"Padmé, it's only been a few hours. He will be back. Give him time. Breha and I have had arguments that have lasted for days, but...don't worry, Padmé. He just needs to think. With all due respect, my friend, he has every right to be upset with you," Bail said, lifting her chin with two fingers, "He's very tired, and very stressed. He's just come back from a mission, and-"

"Yes, but can no one ever see that _I'm_ stressed as well, Bail?" she cried. "I may not fight physical wars, I don't use a lightsaber, and I certainly couldn't do what he does. I admire him greatly for his strength, his character, his ability to watch death after death and continue to be the sweet little Ani I met a decade ago. But," she said, her lips quivering, "I also fight wars. I fight in the arena of the Senate, I put on a calm face, just like the mask I wore as Queen. I am just as tired of the corruption, and just as he does, I carry the same lie. I carry the same threat with me, that should our relationship fall in the wrong hands, my career is finished. Bail...I love him. I love him more than anything in the galaxy. But I also love having a life of my own. Politics are all I've ever known." Padmé moved forwards and crouched in front of the fire.

"My lady...I don't have any words that would comfort you...but I extend my heart and my ears, and this offer to you." Padmé turned her head slightly. "A family, children are a career of their own. Though I cannot say from experience, I imagine the experience you and Master Skywalker would have would be beautiful. To have a family that neither of you really ever saw, from what you tell me! Should you choose to resign your duties in favour of having his children, you-and Anakin of course-are welcome to come to Alderaan, live with Breha and I. You would be welcomed with open arms, and offered a choice apartment with a beautiful view of the mountains," he said, excitedly, opening his arms symbolically. Padmé smiled as another tear slid down past her chin and onto the carpet.

"Bail...I don't know what to say...I...it sounds so beautiful. I will keep it in my heart, Bail. Thank you," she cooed gently, wrapping her arms around her belly.

An apartment on Alderaan? With Bail and the Queen? _How beautiful! _She thought. As beautiful as Naboo, but much safer in the company of her friends, people in power. Her mind began regressing to the early days of her pregnancy, to thoughts of her and Anakin fixing up their new home, of finally having a kitchen to cook for him in, of being a real wife and not a politician, of her husband being solely married to her and their child, not her and _Obi-Wan Kenobi_. Of finally having this man she adored all to herself.

_Oh, Anakin...what is the right thing to do?_

An outstretched hand was visible to her right, and Bail slowly pulled her up, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Padmé, tell me if there's anything I can do for you. And if you decide in the affirmative on my offer, you only need give word to me, or even Breha. She has been worried, and nags me on a daily basis about you. You always have family on Alderaan."

"Bail...you are far too kind to us. How can you be a politician?" Bail chuckled, looking down. For such a presence, he was remarkably shy.

"It is no trouble, not for you, my lady. Get some rest now, have some chocolate. Think."

"I will. Thank you for your trouble. My mind is at ease now," she lied a little. Bail beamed a bit, before striding to the door. He bowed gracefully before her, and she nodded her head with gratitude.

As the door closed, she let out a sigh. Alone again, in her empty apartment. Her finger went up to gently twist the chestnut ringlets around her ears as she looked about in the firelight. Her thoughts were quickly redirected to the obvious absence. Echoes of Anakin's familiar laughter, the ghost of his tall, filthy boots placed by the bedroom door. She grinned bitterly, looking at the table that, when her husband was around, was littered with cups filled with various drinks. Anakin always had a habit of drinking half a cup of his juice, or water, or tea, or ale, and a half hour later, forgetting there was already a glass out, would get another one. It was an endless cycle, and resulted in gallons of wasted drinks. She choked out a sob, masked as a cough. She missed him dearly. Shedding her robe and slippers, she made her way to her bedroom, securing the door and sliding between the soft, satiny sheets that still bore his heady scent from yesterday.

"Anakin..." she cried, as she pulled the duvets over her body, resting her hand above her stomach. Her liquid brown eyes drifted out the window, and her thoughts were full of love and regret as she watched the Coruscanti traffic pulsing endlessly outside. Never ceasing. She wondered if Anakin was out there.

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There was something comforting about the sound of Obi-Wan peeing in the morning.

It was the strangest thing. Anakin shifted slightly on the sleeper sofa in the cocoon of blankets Obi-Wan had practically wrapped him in last night. He had tried to convince the man that he only really needed a pillow and a blanket, or even a sheet, but instead, his Master had draped him with two sheets and a thick red patchwork quilt from his own bed, all of which Anakin had tacoed himself in on the couch over the course of the night. The couch was actually rather comfortable, large and accommodating as a bed just as much as a seating unit. Of course, he wouldn't have complained in any case.

Words weren't exchanged in the night, as both men were too exhausted, and Anakin's wounds too fresh to be prodded. Obi-Wan had simply tended to his bedding crisis, and patted him on the shoulder, whispering his goodnights before disappearing behind his bedroom door. Anakin had fallen asleep almost as soon as he hit his pillow, cuddling up in the odd comfort he took in the familiarly masculine scent he breathed through Obi-Wan's quilt. It brought to mind situations of sleeping too close for comfort in a lone tent on an obscure planet, of being reluctantly wrapped against Obi-Wan's chest as a child. It smelled like sandalwood. And fresh water. And...the subtle ambrosial scent unique to men, almost more alluring than the scent of a female. The sparse apartment was full of familiar comforts.

Including Obi-Wan's early morning bathroom rituals.

Obi-Wan revered his early morning peeing. How many mornings had Anakin, ever a light sleeper, heard his Master slip out of his room at exactly six a.m., saunter to the washroom, and pee for what seemed like an eon? It was as if he saved it all up during the course of the day for that one time in the morning when he had some peace and privacy.

Anakin simply laid, his chest rising and falling under the blankets, reveling in the warmth of his habitat, listening to Obi-Wan relieve himself. In the beginning, it was a steady stream, becoming a soft trickle, and then a clearing of the throat ending with a yawn, a scratching of the belly, and a washing of the hands. The washroom door opened, and there were footsteps down the hallway toward the common room, toward Anakin's makeshift bedroom. Anakin's heart sped up, and he quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep like a child caught awake at midnight. He wasn't sure why, but he _wanted_ to seem vulnerable.

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Obi-Wan stifled a yawn as he approached the back of the couch, placing a hand on the soft cushioning. Looking down in the early morning darkness, he made out the contours of a young man's soft breathing underneath his red quilt. Anakin's haphazard curls spilled out over the white pillow, his lashes dusting his cheeks, pink in sleep. The blanket was pulled up over his nose, his fingers curled around the fraying edge. He smiled a little, noting the long, tanned toes that stuck out at the end over the edge of the sofa.

He felt his heart clench inside. Anakin looked younger when he slept. It was times like this that he could see the little boy he had practically raised, when he used to wander aimlessly into his bedroom some nights, checking that he wasn't dreaming, that he was asleep, that he wasn't on the floor with a flashlight tinkering with a new droid to trick him with. He had often felt like a new parent, not exactly aching to be with Anakin, but drawn to him, driven by instinct to peek in that bedroom, sometimes even stand at the edge of the bed, witness that compact bundle of raw energy at rest. But here, now, Anakin looked defeated. As if sleep was his escape, and one he intended to stay lost in for an eternity. Obi-Wan had often revered sleep as an intimate act. The ultimate vulnerability, when the body and mind rested, where the subconscious took over. Anakin was, in fact, only the third person he had ever fallen asleep next to. He hated people watching him sleep, and felt slightly voyeuristic watching Anakin. Anakin shifted slightly, turning towards the back of the couch, and burrowing his face into the corner where the cushions met.

_He's going to suffocate himself_, Obi-Wan thought, resisting the urge to turn Anakin back over. _He's twenty-one years old. He doesn't need me._ Obi-Wan pried himself from the vision of his sleeping apprentice, and wandered into the kitchen, his bare feet sticking a little to the linoleum floor. He waved the little stove light on, and began the task of preparing breakfast. Looking in the cupboard, he pulled out a mostly empty bag of wheat flour for pancakes. In the refrigerator, there was only curdled milk, and one egg. He searched the refrigerator, surprised at how little he had. With the absence of Anakin's voracious appetite, he had had to adjust his grocery habits, buying only a little for himself.

_The milk is out of date, no fruit, one slice of bread left...Force, did I think I wouldn't need to eat again?_ He thought, shuffling things around in the cupboards. The alcohol cabinet was stocked and ready, of course, but there was little of nutritional value to be found. Sighing loudly in the gloom of early morning Coruscant, Obi-Wan began putting on a pot of water for tea, and retrieved his dark brown robe from the nail in the wall.

_I suppose it's a cafeteria breakfast for us, Anakin. _ The door closed softly, and he made his way to the Temple Kitchen, in vain hopes of something delicious.

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Anakin stirred at the clanking of plates and dishes, the rattling of sacks and utensils, and the smell of hot food. In his attempt to seem asleep, he actually _had_ fallen asleep. The bleary sun had since risen, and Anakin shielded his eyes from the little bit of light that reflected off the durasteel city. He shuffled a little on the couch, moving to sit and look around the kitchen at Obi-Wan setting up the table. He felt a smile creep onto his face at the older man, hurriedly pulling small boxes of food from a large sack, divvying it all into portions on two plates. He stopped to run a hand through his messy copper hair, brushing the other over his mustache for a moment in thought. Suddenly, he remembered something and snapped his fingers, going to the kettle and pouring two steaming cups of black tea, setting them beside the breakfasts. Anakin stood up, keeping the quilt wrapped around his bare shoulders, and made his way to the table. Obi-Wan looked up shamefully, turning his back to grab some napkins from a drawer.

"I have apparently been down on the job, Anakin. I'm sorry you have to settle for cafe food today...it is unacceptable," Obi-Wan said, somewhat gruffly. Anakin laughed, clear as a bell at Obi-Wan's frustration with himself.

"What makes you think I have any groceries in _my_ apartment, Master? This is perfectly fine," he said, settling into the chair, waiting for Obi-Wan to slow down and join him.

"Well, perhaps you'd join me at the market this afternoon, then? It'd at least...get your mind off things for a moment." Anakin looked down at his plate, sullenly remembering the occasion for his visit. He nodded, and began tearing into the sloppy orange omelet. Obi-Wan had an equally grotesque reaction, but stomached his far worse than Anakin, being ever the picky cook.

"For Force sake, how much cheese did they think this bloody thing needed? I can't even eat this. I'll be clogged for a month." Anakin laughed, tossing his head back.

"Well, believe it or not, it's the best food I've _had_ in a month. Padmé's cooking leaves a lot to be desired." Obi-Wan stifled his bristling at her mention, and smiled.

"Oh really? Perhaps you should teach her?"

"We want her to be _capable_, Master, not retarded. But," he paused to take a bite of soggy toast, "she does her best. She's very good with pasta, but she wants to become a vegetarian, and she refuses to cook any meat, even eggs. She's horrible at baking, too. I guess I keep comparing her lasagna with yours, which is mistake number one." Obi-Wan laughed at this, wiping his mouth and pushing his plate aside.

"I appreciate you feathering my ego, Anakin. But I have a lot to learn."

"How did you learn to cook, Master?" Anakin asked, happy for unstrained conversation.

"Well...mostly out of necessity. After all, I had a young boy with a hideous appetite to look after. Especially since he was so socially awkward that he wouldn't eat in the food hall with the other Padawans. But before that," he smiled sadly, sipping the tea, "Master Qui-Gon was of help. He was a fantastic cook, Anakin. It was his spe-ci-ality, upped only by his use of the Force. I wish you'd known his food, it puts mine to shame."

"What did he make?" Anakin asked, not really caring, but not willing to risk silence.

"My favourite was-you guessed it-his lasagna. That's where I got the recipe. However, he uses Corellian brandy in the recipe, and not the white wine I use. I always forget it at the market, though. He also used more spice than I do," Obi-Wan trailed off, lost in memory. Anakin cleared his throat, an ancient jealousy rearing it's head.

"Thank you, Master. It was...quite good." Obi-Wan smiled, and watched Anakin take a sip of tea before rising and rushing to the washroom, completely at home. In a moment, the 'fresher started, and he began clearing away the dishes, making a mental note to remind Anakin that while he was here, he still had to to help with chores.

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"M'lady?" Sabé ventured as she pulled her mistress's long curls back, twisting them into a coiling rope. The young handmaiden who had been the Nubian Queen's best friend and decoy had been called back to her after the period of the Clone Wars, when all of her Senatorial handmaidens, including the ever devoted Dormé had been dismissed. Padmé required someone to stay with her for the duration of her pregnancy, especially without Anakin present, and could think of no one better than her dear Sabé. Padmé remained silent as she dusted her face with the soft loose powder. Just as her clothes and suites were some of the most luxuriant in the galaxy, her cosmetics were just as fine. The powder was made from ground sands from Capza, a resort renowned for its pinkish sparkling beaches. Crushed into soft, tiny grains, they made her skin shimmer, bringing a blush of youth she would never lose. Her eyes were thinly lined with brown kohl, her somewhat short lashes adorned with tiny brown feathers. She pursed her plump lips together, staining them with the red pigment. It was time to play Senator again.

"He hit you, didn't he, m'lady..." Sabé said softly, tucking a veil around the coiled topknot and securing it with two long ruby spears.

"No, Sabé, he didn't. And frankly, it's none of your concern," Padmé snapped, all the time keeping up her mask. Sabé's head fell, nervously tending to her work, clasping the japor snippet around her neck and letting it fall between her breasts. Padmé cursed mentally, and stood suddenly.

"Sabe...I..." Padmé reached out, and pulled her handmaiden to her in a crushing hug. She tucked her head against Sabé's neck, trying to hold back her tears. It would only ruin Sabe's diligent eye-job. Sabe slowly stroked her mistress's back, and caressed the velvet of her gown.

"I know, m'lady. It'll be alright. He'll be back," Sabé offered, kissing Padmé's cheek. "But should he ever touch you..."

"I know. He wouldn't, Sabé. He's my husband. Anakin loves me very much," she paused for a moment, "Sabé ...what would you say if," she licked her lips, tasting the sweet sugary lipstick, "if I resigned from being Senator?" Sabé gasped a little, genuinely shocked.

"If It is what you wish, m'l...Padmé. But...will I follow you to-"

"To Alderaan? Yes, Sabé, of course. You are my only true confidante. You are like my sister." Padmé moved to sit again, and Sabé smiled, tears filling her eyes. She tugged nervously at her draping pink and orange robes.

"So you will have his child, Padmé?" she asked as she checked to be sure Padmé's pregnancy wouldn't show through the gown. She slid her hands over her mistress's belly lovingly, and pulled at the silky fabric along the cape.

Padmé remained silent, lost in thought and questioning herself in the clear mirror.

_Anakin..._

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Obi-Wan Kenobi never thought he would have to use his superior Force-sensitive skills to find his apprentice in the grocery store. He sighed, just deciding to continue with his shopping, and looked in his already full shopping bag. Perhaps the two of them had gotten a little carried away?

Anakin had nearly cleaned the instant pudding section out, leaving nothing but vanilla flavoured pouches behind. Also, there were two jars of peanut butter, two sacks of wheat flour, around five pounds of interplanetary fruits, mostly organically grown on Naboo, three boxes of black, green, and medeis tea, eggs, a gallon of blue milk, and an assortment of other ingredients and snacks.

"I found you," Anakin breathed, dumping another armful of stuff into the sack. Obi-Wan's arms sagged with the load, and handed the younger man the heavy sack.

"I'm tired of carrying it, it's your turn. I told you we needed two sacks, one for you and..."

"Oh, stop your whining, old timer. That's it. And," Anakin held out a dark amber bottle, "can we make lasagna tonight, Master?" Obi-Wan smiled at the small bottle of Corellian brandy and nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.

They stepped up to the line, and Anakin and Obi-Wan began unloading the large canvas sack, watching the items fly past on the conveyor belt. A very young Twi'leki girl dressed in very little rang up all of the items, putting them into another sack, while smacking on some flavoured putty. She couldn't have been over twelve. Anakin looked at Obi-Wan strangely, whispering.

"Master, maybe I'm crazy, but does Coruscant not have child labor laws?" Obi-Wan frowned a little, making sure the girl wasn't looking. He spoke over their bond.

_She's probably a failing prostitute, Anakin. Many female Twi'leki children are sent to Coruscant to make money the best they know how._

Anakin bit his lip. A child, a daughter to someone, a prostitute? He had seen it before, laughed at the whores of Coruscant, demeaned them, passed them without a moment's thought.

Why then did it bother him so much now, to see this young girl, a _whore_ of twelve, ringing up their groceries?

Pushing it from his mind, Anakin smiled at the girl, and helped her load the items into the bag.

"Payment?" she said softly.

"Republic credit, oh and please take an extra five percent of the tab," Anakin replied, fishing for his and Obi-Wan's joint credit chip. She slid it in the small slot, and returned it. She offered a thankful, lusty smile, and he looked away, uncomfortable.

"Come back sometime, Jedi," the Twi'lek said as she began scanning the next in line's items.

Obi-Wan could feel the anger roiling off of Anakin. He quickly caught up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What was that all about, Anakin?"

"Nothing, Master," Anakin said nonchalantly, setting the sack in the back of Obi-Wan's yellow speeder. "You want to drive?"

"No...no. You can. I'm sure your patience can't handle my piloting skills," Obi-Wan half-joked. Anakin flung himself into the seat, buckling himself in. Obi-Wan followed, his eyes never leaving Anakin.

Something was very wrong with his counterpart.

"Anakin, tell me what's on your mind. I've left it alone since last night, but it's clear now that-whoa!" he lurched closer to Anakin as the boy steered between two much larger vehicles. The speeder shook, and Obi-Wan turned to check that their food was still intact. It only got worse from there. Anakin kept speeding up, racing in between small spaces Obi-Wan would have determined too dangerous to squeeze through.

"Anakin! Slow down!" Anakin clenched his jaw.

"How can people cast out their children like that, Obi-Wan?" he said coolly, his expression giving him away.

"What?" Obi-Wan said, holding on to the grips on the side of the door.

"How can people let their children become whores? Let them work among the _basest_ of Coruscant?" he repeated, his voice rising.

"Are you still on that? Anakin, we've discussed this. As unjust as it is, Coruscant-among other worlds-is a pyramid. There are politicians, there are warriors, there are workers, there are artisans, there are whores. It's the way of the galaxy."

"Well, it isn't fair. They deserve a chance." Obi-Wan sighed. He was used to Anakin's mood swings, but this one was completely unexpected.

"Anakin, no one ever said anything was fair. Talk to me, tell me what's bothering you. It's something deeper than that market worker, I can _feel_ it. You're aching," Obi-Wan said, feeling a few drops of rain spattering on his face. "Put the top up, Anakin," he said, reaching back to close the bag further.

"We're almost home," Anakin griped. But quickly, the weather deteriorated, and one of Coruscant's heavy storms engulfed them.

"Put the top up, Anakin!" Obi-Wan yelled over the rain. The sky had grown dark amongst the lights from the speeders, and the neon lights of bars and shops coming on automatically. When Anakin refused, Obi-Wan put his arm over to the steering bar, and not-so gently, pulled them to a halt.

"I said _put the damned top up_, Anakin." His eyes burned with irritation at his moody apprentice. Anakin smirked snottily at him, and jammed his foot down on the latch, the top sliding from its hidden compartment behind the back seat, and encapsulating them. The speeder was suddenly lost in the sounds of the rain pattering on the plastiglass, and the sounds of citizens blaring horns at the motionless yellow obstruction. Anakin's nostrils flared, and his heart began pounding in his ears.

"You wanna know what's wrong? My _fucking_ wife is pregnant, Obi-Wan. Three months pregnant," Anakin shouted, then becoming still, and shaking. His face fell, realizing the futility of being angry with Obi-Wan for pressing him.

Obi-Wan was all he had, and he refused to lose him.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, shaken, as he closed his eyes. He pushed back his Jedi mentality for the time being. There would be plenty of time to reprimand Anakin in the near future. "Why are you so angry?" he asked, lacing his fingers in the curls on the nape of Anakin's neck, comforting him as he would a tense animal. Anakin's eyes, once again, filled with tears. He reached up to dig at the corner of his eye. A flood of images racked his brain. Images of their wedding, of the nights he would creep into the Senate district from the Temple, of nights spent between her sheets. They slowly became memories, not realities.

"She's decided to terminate."

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_Close my eyes  
Feel me now  
I don't know how you could not love me now  
You will know, with her feet down to the ground  
Over there, and I want true love to grow  
You can't hide, oh no, from the way I feel _

_-My Bloody Valentine - "Sometimes"_

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